


Summer Practicum in Women's Studies

by gloss



Category: Community
Genre: F/F, kink bingo, rubbing/grinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possibly a summer fling, possibly something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Practicum in Women's Studies

**Author's Note:**

> It's [](http://neigedens.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**neigedens**](http://neigedens.dreamwidth.org/)'s birthday! HAPPY HAPPY! Also for the "rubbing/grinding" square on my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) [card](http://gloss.dreamwidth.org/60963.html?#cutid1). Beta by the notorious G.; warnings for Britta being a clueless, well-intentioned white lady.

  
"What do you think you're doing?" Britta asked the first time Shirley did this.   
Shirley was frowning in concentration as she executed this weird wiggling movement that brought them up face to face on their sides, with their legs slotted together. They were half-falling off the futon in Britta's room, giggling and clutching at each other like that was going to defeat gravity.

They'd been listening to a Nigerian funk album from the 70s, but the record just popped and spat as they made out.

Shirley just wiggled some more and smiled like she was thinking of a joke she wasn't going to share. Then she *moved*.

That's when Britta got it. That was when Shirley got her mouth on Britta's neck and pushed her chest against Britta's palm. They were rocking together, grinding down against each other and holding tight. *God*, Shirley's breast was amazing, heavy and warm and somehow needy, the way the nipple ground Britta's palm in tune with their hips. Her mouth was warm, slick, *laughing* into the riot of Britta's pulse.

Every twitch, every ripple and thrust and push-pull grind-down, sent streamers past Britta's eyes and whizzing songs across her nerves.

Shirley giggled as she came, long and high and squealing, her fist in Britta's hair and her head thrown back. Her thighs clamped down on Britta's leg and didn't let go. She looked fucking *glorious*, transformed and powerful, and Britta stared until spots swam before her eyes.

*

That first time, they didn't exactly know each other yet. They were just study group buds. At the moment, they were also sloshed on cherry punch spiked with god knows what at the West Greendale Rec Center Fourth of July barbecue. Britta was teaching silkscreening and tagging (the latter on the sly), while Shirley was taking two summer courses at GCC and had her boys enrolled in the full gamut of rec center summer programs.

The next time, and then the time after that, they were at Shirley's house. Elijah and Jordan were at a sleepover or their dad's and Britta came over to Shirley's to hang out and keep her company.

*Not*, of course, in order to enjoy the air-conditioning, which was just this side of meat-locker frigid.

But if Shirley wanted to turn it on, then that was okay. Who was she to say anything?

Shirley cocked her head at that and hmm-haw'ed at that. "But you're Britta. You *always* say something, regardless."

"Yeah, well --" Britta kicked off her sandals and wiggled her toes. "Maybe I shouldn't."

"Oh, I don't think that's such a good idea," Shirley said. She leaned over and slid a coaster under Britta's glass. She grinned over her shoulder. "You might give yourself an aneurysm."

Britta kicked her, Shirley giggled and grabbed Britta's ankle. Before either of them quite knew what they were doing, they were kissing again. Shirley wriggled on top, worming her knee between Britta's, tugging Britta's peasant skirt up, and mashed their mouths together. She kissed *really* well, gave it her all, and Britta stopped thinking about breathing and just sank into the couch and tried to grind back half as well as Shirley was.

They kissed and kept rubbing, breathing in sharp whimpers and long throaty sighs. They moved through, past, orgasms into that strange, floating place where you're flushed and out of breath and just persistently *shuddering*. They kissed and came some more and kissed and dozed a little.

When Britta woke up, tasting lipstick and grenadine in her mouth, Shirley made her dinner. Fish sticks and steamed zucchini, Jell-O for dessert with as much Cool-Whip topping as she wanted.

*

Then they got to be a regular thing.

The times after that, they just got down to business. They'd set up a great rhythm, their legs scissored together, Britta's clit against Shirley's thigh, Shirley's against Britta's knee, and they were just *in synch* in a way Britta hadn't felt for a long time.

She was coming to realize that she couldn't take her eyes off Shirley, couldn't stop thinking about her, running over memories and daydreaming. She smelled cocoa butter and got aroused; she wanted to roll around on clean sheets, take a bath in a claw-footed tub, _make the lady breakfast_.

She was a goner.

She was crushing on a *Baptist*. With kids.

...a Baptist with kids who could make out for hours and then just cuddle and chuckle into Britta's hair and hold her from behind like the big spoon even though she was a couple inches shorter.

Who, however, didn't seem to want to have sex any other way than tribadally. Tribadistically? Tribbishly? The dictionary was no help on this.

Britta hadn't even thought about Jeff Winger or his stupid sticky-uppy hair and Play-Doh face for over a month, Shirley aced both her summer midterms and group project, and everything was going really well.

So of course Britta had to ruin it.

"I get it," Britta said, pulling on her shirt and shaking out her hair. They were in Shirley's bedroom in the middle of the day; the college had been shut down for Hantavirus inspection and Britta called in sick to the rec center. "I mean, non-penetrative sex has a lot going for it. Reject the phallocratic focus entirely and just *get* down. Like ladies throughout history! After all, no less an authority than Kristeva said that the labia majora are --"

Shirley hummed and turned away. Britta was trying to be more responsive, so she made herself stop talking and touched Shirley's arm. God, her skin was *so* soft, it was unbelievable.

"Shirley?"

"Yes?" Shirley turned back and her voice was bright and cheerful. Her eyes, however, seemed tight. "What is it?"

All of a sudden, it all made sense. Sex this way didn't count. Britta buried her face in her hands. "Oh, *God*."

"Britta?"

The bed dipped as Shirley slid closer and put her arm around Britta's shoulders. She smelled good! Warm, spicy with sweat, almost yeasty. She was kissing Britta's temple and brushing her hair back from her face.

Groaning, Britta tipped against Shirley and shook her head. "I can't believe it, I can't believe I let you --"

Shirley stood right up and let Britta fall to the side. When she spoke, her tone was low and strained. Dangerous. "You let me do *what*?"

Britta flopped onto her back and threw her arm over her eyes. "It doesn't count with a woman, does it? That's how you let yourself do this, because there's no, no -- *penis* and so, like, Jesus won't get mad --"

"Excuse me?" Shirley's voice went as low as Barry White's.

Britta knew she should shut up. She knew that like she knew her own name.

"Look me in the eye and say that again," Shirley said.

Britta wanted to roll over, hide under the covers, never come out. Maybe just die right there. That would be good. "Uh --"

"Look me in the eye."

"Fine." Britta dragged herself up; it was like moving through mashed potatoes. When she was sitting up, Shirley cleared her throat and Britta swallowed hard before looking up.

She'd expected Shirley to look pissed, maybe with arms crossed and that scary glower she'd get when she was really mad. But she just looked -- kind of small. Her shoulders drooped and her mouth was turned down. Even her eyelids seemed heavy.

"I thought," Britta started to say, then shook her head. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. I thought that --"

Shirley tilted up her chin. "You thought the Christian homophobe found a loophole for herself."

"No! Well. Yes, but --" Britta looked down at her lap and laced her fingers together. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean --"

"You meant it," Shirley said and, contrary to all expectations, sat back down next to Britta. Britta couldn't look at her and all she wanted to do was go back in time, tilt against Shirley again, hear her soft voice. "It's easier for you to believe I'm an ignorant fool than that I know what I'm doing."

Britta yelped. Her face went hot and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking. "I didn't say that!"

Shirley patted her knee. "You didn't have to."

They sat in silence for a long time, long enough that the shadow pf the tree outside the window moved to cover Britta's toes. She kept starting to say something, even got as far as opening her mouth, before realizing she had no idea which words to use. Beside her, Shirley seemed to be perfectly still. Her hand was still on Britta's knee; she'd probably forgotten it there.

Enough time passed that Britta started to need to pee. She could hardly excuse herself for *that*, though.

"I'm sorry I thought you didn't know what you were doing," she said at last. She studied the back of Shirley's hand, the slight swell of skin, her neatly manicured fingernails. Everything about her was so *careful*, so nice and neat and sweet. Britta was basically a monster, really. "I'm sorry I suck."

Shirley laughed at that. "Apology accepted."

"Really?" Britta leaned away, just in case it was a trick. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Shirley said and stood up. She held out her hand and, after a pause, Britta took it and let Shirley pull her up. "Just don't act like you're the expert here, okay?"

"But --" Britta had slept with four women in her life (and eighteen men, possibly nineteen, but she didn't remember that long weekend in Hoboken very clearly [though she was *zealous* about getting tested afterward, no worries there]). Shirley narrowed her eyes at her and Britta gulped, then nodded. "Okay. Really?"

"Please. I was macking on shorties while you were still figuring out that Barbie is --" Shirley trailed off, scowled, then grinned. "That Barbie is a tool of kyriarchical indoctrination!"

"Nice one!" Britta slapped her high-five, then down low, and Shirley giggled.

"I've got daiquiri mix and Oreo cakesters in the kitchen," she said. "Race you?"

The relief made her feel drunk, and stoned, and very, very silly. Britta stumbled to her feet and caught Shirley around the waist in a half-hug, half-tackle. Screeching in mock-outrage, Shirley pushed forward, dragging Britta with her into the hall.

Shirley made even high fructose corn syrup and other processed sugars taste like heaven.


End file.
